Skull and Shackles: Session 1: The Wormwood

 The new day was hazy yet curiously bright, the sun not visible in a sky that seemed to glow of its own accord, one shade from horizon to distant horizon.  The cramped cabin which seemed to some combination of crew quarters and brig had only a single tiny porthole, but it was enough to make the two male occupants squint and wince away, still recovering from the unholy mixture of grog and opium they'd swallowed the night before.  Feruzi planted her back to the wall and eyed the other female, a tiny creature, although still armed and lacking a signature headache.

The door flew open and the horrible yellow-toothed, emaciated Master Scourge stomped in, his face twisted in a grimace that on second viewing turned out to be a shark smile.  He spoke in sickly-sweet tones, belied by the six pirates with various bludgeons arrayed behind him.  "Did ye lovely princesses enjoy yer beauty rest, then?  The sun be over the yardarm, and it be time to report to the captain!"  The smile fell away.  "On yer feet, filthy swabs, before Cap'n Harrigan flays yer into sausages and has Fishguts fry yer up for breakfast!"

"Oh, quit yer yellin'," the other woman snapped, her accent belying her exotic appearance.  "I bin up."

Chopper grunted and rolled himself onto his hands and knees, rising slowly and deliberately from there to his feet.  "Oof," was his sole comment. His face slowly took on its usual cheerful, ingratiating expression as he looked around.  "Huh," he said.  "Guess I was righter than I thought.  They do need a doctor, eh Ruse?" He turned to look at Feruzi, who, as always, responded to the nickname with a blank stare.  "So," he continued, clapping his hands and rubbing the palms briskly, "what are our duties, erm, boatswain?  Not swabs.  Yeesh."

"If ye'll make yer way t'the deck," Scourge growled, "we'll sort all o' that out right quick."

"Oh.  Aye, sir."

"This would be a simpler matter were you not standing in the doorway," Feruzi remarked.  Scourge's smile, already more than strained, fled altogether, but he stepped aside, making a florid bow toward the doorway.

The Wormwood proved to be a sizeable ship, three-masted, with a fairly sizeable crew clustered around the mainmast.  Two figures addressed them from the fore deck, one a broad, muscular Garundi man with a shaved head, a long beard extravagantly bound with gold rings, and an eye patch--clearly the Captain--while the other, a younger man in a tailored coat with the front of his head shaved and a long queue behind, fingered a cat-o'-nine-tails.  Feruzi followed Chopper and the other two to join what looked like another small group of new recruits among the pirate crew, set apart by their relative cleanliness and unease with the surroundings.  Master Scourge climbed the steps to the foredeck to whisper into the younger man's ear.

Chopper, friendly as always, took about two seconds to size up the other recruits.  He made a pleased noise as he recognized one red-haired woman from the Formidably Maid.  "Sorry, Miss, I promise, the next rescue will go better," he remarked.  She nodded politely.

The Captain leaned forward, planting his hands on the rail in a way that displayed his extravagant muscles to good effect.  "Glad you could join us at last!" he announced in a gravely voice.  "Welcome to the Wormwood!  Many thanks for 'volunteering' to join my crew.  I'm Barnabas Harrigan, Captain Harrigan to you, not that you'll ever need to address me.  I have only one rule--don't speak to me.  I like talk, but I don't like your talk.  Follow that, and we'll get along fine."  He paused, leaned back, and paced the length of the rail before stopping to look down at the recruits again.  "One more thing.  Even with you folks, we're still short-handed, so I aim to keep what crew I have.  There'll be a keelhaulin' for anyone caught killin'.  Mr. Plug!" the younger man stepped forward smartly.  "If you'll be so kind as to make pirates out of these landlubbers, it'll save me the effort of tossin' 'em into the bilges to rot."  Harrigan then sauntered away.

The apparent Mr. Plugg smiled unpleasantly.  "I got positions what need fillin' on this ship," he announced.  "The first goes to whoever can climb to the crow's nest the fastest."  He indicated  the small enclosure at the top of the mainmast for the assistance of the hard-of-thinking.

"What is the first one?" Chopper asked.

"Does it matter?" the tiny woman asked.

"Well, there are jobs, and there are jobs."

Feruzi shot the tangled ropes a contemptuous look, then leapt into them and began climbing.  They somehow managed to be rough and slimy-feeling at the same time, perhaps the tar that coated them in liberal amounts to protect them from wear and weather.

"See?" Chopper said.  "Now Ruse has a head start."  He, too, began to climb.  The tiny woman followed him, while the fourth man, who had yet to speak, plucked at the cordage in a desultory fashion.

Feruzi estimated she was about halfway to the top when she glanced down.  It couldn't have been more than a glance, but she missed her grip and suddenly found herself scrabbling for a handhold.  Her bare foot slid between the ropes, and with the natural grace of a flapping pelican, she fell off, crashing to the deck amidst a roar of hilarity from the watching pirates.  Grunting, she forced herself to her feet and glanced upward.  Chopper shook his head and continued climbing, reaching the top just ahead of the woman.

"Congratulations," Mr. Plugg said dryly, not sounding particularly congratulatory.  "You're our new rigger; you and the gnome report directly to me."  He pointed to one of the other set of recruits, a short nonhuman in oddly foppish dress.  "Now come on down."

"Aye, sir," Chopper called down.  The woman slid down the mast with little apparent effort, landing neatly on her feet at the base.  Plugg gave Feruzi a nudge with his toe.

"Second test," he said.  "Can you cook?"

"Only if you like your meat raw," Feruzi told him.  He scowled at her, then turned to look at the thus-far silent man.  "What about you?"

"No."

"What about you?" Plugg demanded of the tiny woman.

"I've been aboard enough boats to say that I probably can.  Though whether it meets your expectations remains to be seen."

"Fine.  You're the new cook's mate.  Old Fisguts is pickled in grog, and I'm sick of eating his rubbish.  New riggers in the crow's nest, you'll be on lookout today.  Cook's mate, to the galley."  Plugg pointed to the fourth man.  "You're a runner, that means you pass messages to al parts of the ship, saves the officers' quarters.  The rest of you, get to swabbing.  Do your jobs well, and we won't have any problems.  Otherwise, your education in pirate discipline begins at the Bloody Hour.  Get to work!"

Feruzi frowned at Chopper.  "So. How does one swab?"

* * *

Reiko made her way down the stairs to the galley.  Two massive wooden tables squatted between ranks of cupboards.  In the back of the room, a pair of small stoves hunched under seething cauldrons.  Scattered over every flat surface was a chaos of pots, knives, and discarded food.  A full flock of chickens and several goats wandered freely, contributing to the overall confusion and filth.  A fat, short, midle-aged human with a black rooster perched on his shoulder stopped fussing at a stove and looked up, wiping greasy sweat from his face.

"I know th' new hands missed breakfast, but ye're just gonna have t' wait fer dinner."

"Understood," Reiko said.  "I'm your new assistant."

"Cook's mate, eh?  Mebbe that Plugg's had enough o'me after all, wants me t'show yer the ropes so's 'e can toss me overbode.  Board."  The man belched, and Reiko realized he was drunk.  Not insensible, but definitely a couple sheets to the wind, at least.  "Well, c'mon in, I'll show ye around.  M'name's Ambrose Kroop, but ye might as well call me Fishguts, errybody does."

"If you insist, Mr. Kroop."

"An' what should I call ye, Miss?"

"My name is Nakayama Reiko.  You may call me Reiko."

"Well, welcome ta th' Wormwood.  'Tis poison, this ship, but don't let anyone hear ye say it aloud.  The hull listens, see, and the Cap'n hears it all.  Poison the Wormwood is, though, rotten to the core.  You'll not meet a more nasty, sour piece of work than Cap'n Harrigan in all your days at sea, and his crew's the same, 'specially the first mate, Mr. Plugg.  Vicious little sod, he is.  He'd sell his own mother to the butcher for pies, he would, but they leave me alone, mostly.  They know I can't 'arm 'em, and they has to eat regardless."

"How long have you been on this ship, Mr. Kroop?" Reiko asked, poking among the debris looking for a place to start.

"Three years, now.  It ain't the Lobster's Armor, but it ain't the bottom of the Fever Sea, either.  Yer job'll be t' help me cook fer the crew, an' sometimes t'catch stuff fer us t'cook.  Oh, and sometimes the butcherin'.  Ye ain't afraid o' butcherin', are ye?"

Reiko patted her sword, smiling.  "Not in the least.  I'm not very good at fishing, but I'll do my best."

"I just dinna know if ye had a taboo or . . . whatever.  I ain't had a Tian on th' ship afore."

"Not at all.  We eat meat, same as most.  Although, we do prefer it to be unspoiled."

"Oh, good, good.  Anyway, t'day we're makin' stew.  Let's get started.

* * *

Ezikial Hands, now runner aboard the Wormwood, made his way through the middle hold when the readhead he'd seen at the Formidably Maid waved to him from a cubby.  There was no one else around, a situation that was sure to change shortly.  He stepped toward her, raising an eyebrow to invite confidence.

"Ahoy there," she said, somewhat nervous.  "Thought you'd want this back."  She held out a leather-wrapped bundle, which Ezikial recognized as his pistol, powder, and bullets.  "I told the quartermaster that the powder was dangerous, an' she believed me.  Poor thing is superstitious as a Kuru cannibal."

Ezikial accepted the package and bowed.  "Thank you."

"Sure, what are friends for?"

"Ezikial Hands," he replied by way of introduction.  "Want a swallow?" he asked, extending his pocket flask.

"Black Queen, yes."  The redhead took a hearty swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and giving the flask back.  "On a pirate ship, it ain't what ya know, it's who ya know.  Friends got ta help each other out.  Enemies just make trouble, and their ain't any places to hide from trouble on a ship like this, savvy?"

Ezikial took a swallow himself.  "I'm back to work.  First day and all . . ."

"Yeah.  I woulda gotten that tall Mwangi woman's bow, but it's kinda . . . conspicuous fer me to carry that thing around."

"Fair enough," Ezikial replied.  "Safe travels."

* * *

The ship's clock finally rang, signaling the end of the workday.  The crew gathered on deck for what was known, aboard ship, as the "Bloody Hour"--dispensation of the day's accumulated punishments before the evening meal.  Reiko joined the crowd, and was somewhat startled when the lanky Mwangi woman passed her some fresh-caught fish.  She hid it surreptitiously up her sleeve.  Most of the ship's "officers" were hanging about, Master Scourge being noticeable in his absence.  Captain Harrigan turned and bellowed down the hatch.

"Bring him up!"

A few moments later, Master Scourge appeared, dragging a dreadfully skinny young human from belowdecks.  He stared around at everyone, his eyes wild, but the crew avoided his gaze.  Harrigan gestured toward Mr. Plugg.

"Jakes Magpie," Plugg announced laconically, "you have confessed to the crime of theft from the quartermaster's stores.  The sentence is a slow keelhauling."

"Stupid boy," Ezikial remarked under his breath.  Magpie struggled to no avail as Scourge hooked a heavy rope around his waist.  Plugg and Scourge heaved the boy over the starboard into the darkening waters, slowly playing out the rope until he dragged along the side of the ship.  A desperate prayer to Besmara could be heard before the boy vanished beneath the waves.

"Guess they ain't that short-handed," Chopper growled, looking at Plugg's face, which was alight with relish at the grisly task.

"Hope he's got strong lungs," Ezikial added.

"He will gain some scars to impress his future wife," Feruzi offered.  A halfling, barely knee-high on the Mwangi woman, laughed harshly.

"In the next life, maybe."

Nearly two minutes later, the remains of Jakes Magipe surfaced off the port side.  Plugg and Scourge hauled the shredded mass of flesh onto the deck.

"Right.  No stealing, then.  Message received," Chopper muttered.

"What a waste," Ezikial agreed.

"What do you think is going into tomorrow's stew?" Reiko reflected.  Chopper cringed.

"Please don't."

"I'll do what I can," she said.

Plugg waved over one of the other new recruits.  "Cut this up and throw it to the sharks."  Feruzi took a step forward, towering over the shorter officer even from some distance away.

"Did the Captain not discuss a penalty for killing earlier?"

"You'll find pirates a contrary lot," Chopper told her.  Feruzi lowered her chin to glare.

"Shall we break out the ropes for Mr. Plugg, then?"

Harrigan gave a short barking grunt that might have been a laugh or a snort.  "The law is upheld.  Let's eat."  Reiko helped Fishguts distribute the stew while an unusually thin half-orc woman in dark clothes appeared with a bucket and a handful of mugs, bringing a cheer from the more experienced crewmembers.  She began ladling out rations of grog.  Chopper glanced at her as she walked past, realizing she had a deep, ragged scar across her neck.  Apparently she'd survived an attempt at throat-slitting. 

"Once you drink this," the half-orc woman explained, "you're free to retire for the evening, or carry on up here.  But you have to drink it.  And you have to be back up here, ready to work, when the dawn bell rings."

Feruzi frowned at the grog, then held her nose and swallowed it, considering it was likely the least foul water on the ship.  Reiko essayed a ladylike sip and grimaced.  Chopper accepted his ration, but only stared at it.

"I don't recall 'drink the grog' being on the Captain's List of Laws," he commented.  The half-orc grinned toothily.

"I think it's more t'keep us from gettin' too rowdy, but I'm all for that!"  Chopper sampled the swill.  "That's the difference between most ships and pirate ships," she added.  "We'll give ya more if ya ask for it."

"I can get another?" Ezikial asked.

"Sure!" the woman said, and scooped more grog for Ezikial.  "I like this one."

"Good vintage," Chopper said, spluttering a little in his attempts at the grog. He turned, handing the mug to Ezikial, whose own cup was again dry.  The half-orc glared.

"Ye'll get a lashin'!" she hissed.

"I saw that, rigger," Master Sourge called from the poop deck.  "Six lashes on the Bloody Hour."

"I'll see if Mr. Plugg's arm is less painful than that dreck."  Feruzi gave him a disgusted look.  She considered his life her responsibility, but if he wanted to pick up a few scars, that was his own affair.  Scourge shrugged and turned away.  Chopper glanced over at the man now drinking his grog.

"Call me Chopper," he said, extending a hand.

"Ezikial Hands," the other said, accepting a brief shake.  Feruzi walked away, heading for a hammock.

"Who'd you used to be?" Chopper asked.  "You know, before you became a pirate."

"Studying up to be one."

"Heh,  Is there a test?"

Ezikial shrugged.  "You?"

"An 'honest' sailor.  A carpenter and sometime surgeon," Chopper explained, making a hacking gesture with one hand.

"Ah?"

"Ain't taken many lives, but limbs . . . more than I care to think on.  And here's the assistant cook," he added, as Reiko peeked at them.  "Chopper," he repeated his introduction, making a clumsy bow.

"Ezikial."

Reiko nodded and then looked up at the sky.  "It's interesting, don't you think."

Chopper glanced in the direction she was looking.  "Could you be a little ore specific?"

"The sky, of course.  It's interesting."

He shrugged.  "Well, the stars are good for navigation, certainly.  Useful.  But . . . interesting?"

"Indeed.  It's so very vast.  Much larger than any of us.  Yet we always reach for it, even while it surrounds us."

"A philosopher in your former life, then?" Ezikial asked.

"Perhaps.  Nakayama Reiko.  You may call me Reiko if you so desire."

"I'll take that as a kindness," Chopper said.  "The first bit is a mouthful.

"And what has you so grumpy, Mr. Hands?" Reiko asked.

"Grumpy?"

"Yes, grumpy.  With the scowl on your face, and all."

"I'm not 'grumpy'.  This is just my face."

"Condolences," Chopper smirked.  Reiko nodded toward another group of the crew, who were playing at a complex-looking game.

"That's interesting too, don't you think?"

"You keep using that word," Chopper said.  "I don't think it means what you think it means."

"So you're a comedian.  I like you."

Chopper smiled, somewhat startled at Reiko's reaction, then gestured off down the deck.  "My clumsy friend is called Feruzi.  She doesn't talk much."

"I noticed," Reiko said.  "But I like her too.  She might want to work on her temper a bit, though.  She won't last long on a pirate ship that way."  They glanced at Ezikial, who had withdrawn from the conversation, and noticed him shaking his flask at the red-headed woman.

"That right there," Chopper said, gesturing toward the redhead, "is the reason I stand here with you now.  Never could resist doing something stupid when I see a woman in trouble."

Reiko shrugged.  "That's not a bad quality, I suppose, but your life might also last longer if you work on that habit."

"Aye," Ezikial replied.  "Wish I'd had time to pull the trigger before they hit me."

"The which?" Chopper asked, then shrugged.  "I'd drink to that, but . . ."

"Not much of a drinker?" Reiko asked.

"I'll drink.  When it's my idea."

"I can't really argue with that decision," Reiko said.

"We should meet our fellow sailors, no?" Chopper said, and walked over toward the redhead.

"Well met!" she said.  "We were talking about the Master of the Gales.  Jack Scrimshaw here thinks that the Master's been healing the Eye of Abendego."

"Is it sick, then?" Chopper asked, glad-handing the other members of the small gathering.

"The Eye's a wound on the world, and he's healing it.  Good for nature, good for civilization--bad for pirates!  Why do you think he keeps what he's doing so quiet?  And the reason he ignores the Cult of the Eye is because he knows he'll soon be giving the lie to their propehcy of a new god arising from the maelstrom."

Sandara shook her head slightly.  "Thanks to you for tryin' to help me last night," she said to Chopper and Ezikial.  She turned a bit too quickly and stumbled.  Chopper extended a hand to steady her.  Reiko grinned.

"You could be her knight in shining armor," the Tian woman said.

"No thanks needed," Chopper replied.  "Especially considering how it turned out.  Still, you're welcome.  Any time."

"Like tonight," Sandara said, steadying herself.  "Strong, ain'tcha?"

Ezikial shook his head.  "Not my first choice of ships, but ship work is ship work.  Still . . . the management will take some getting used to."

"That's putting it lightly," Reiko agreed.  Sandara spat.

"Scourge, that bastard.  I'll show him what for."  She shook her fist at the sky, coming close to punching Chopper in the nose.  He sat down and helped her settle in his lap.  "I'm not  gonna polish his knob just cos he's an officer.  The man's repusslive."

"You've got a sailor's mouth, anyway," Chopper said.

"Damned yeh I do.  My Da was a fisherman, same as his Da, prolly goes back as far as there's been a sea to fish."

They chatted for some time in a desultory fashion, then headed off for bed.  The dawn bell rang far too early, and seemingly only seconds later four pirates were at the door to their cabin.  The fat man shoved Ezikial in the chest.

"In a hurry?" he sneered.

I Have to Admit, This One Made Me Laugh

Shall I assume that it contains peanuts, seafood, milk, and soy, then?

Some Musings on Crime and Sense of Life

So, the book I've currently got stored in the Porcelain Reading Room--isn't that a clever euphemism? I thought so, too! sometimes I kill me--is my massive leather-bound volume of The Complete Sherlock Holmes.  One of the things that struck me about Sir Doyle's stories is how benevolent even most of the criminals are.  I am not kidding.  Even the most dastardly and vile of them are after something simple and wholesome like money or revenge.  No nihilists here, just purposeful people in pursuit (haha alliteration!) of values.  It's just that some of them get confused due to emotion and use some spectacularly ugly means of pursuing their goals.  Still, it says something about your view of mankind when even your CRIMINALS are rational.

Compare this to TV crime dramas, where the motivations are much, much uglier.  Every flavor of insanity, religion, hate . . . and then, people with the most rational of motives who aren't doing anything criminal are often portrayed as monstrous, and clearly the law HAS to be stretched to cover their case!  Ugh.  It's night and day.

So, there's that.  But it brought to mind a quote from Terry Pratchett (paraphrase): "Most people will shy away from killing a complete stranger".  Which, from what I've read (admittedly an unscientific survey of anecdotes), is pretty much true.  Generally, if you're going to get killed, it'll be by someone you know.

Now you're probably wondering, okay, what the heck does this have to do with sense of life?  But it occurred to me that this tendency for people to behave in a benevolent manner towards strangers (even MORE benevolent than their treatment of people they know) is not a universal of human behavior, it is, in fact, a cultural artifact.  There have existed (and still do exist, I suppose), cultures where the reverse is true, where people shy away from doing harm to someone who belongs to their "group", but gleefully embrace the torture and killing of strangers.

Which brings me to a third and final thought.  Civilization means not having to live in fear of your neighbors.  So what is it that we have now?

Hence my Semi-voluntary Strike

Now, I have some serious problems with these statistics.  Receiving some kind of welfare benefits doesn't mean that you're not also working and being productive.  Nor does being a government employee, because the government has spread, fungus-like, into so many legitimate areas of the economy (and some government functions, like the police and military, are legit in and of themselves) that it's not this straightforward to draw the line between producers and parasites.  So it's not entirely true that every 1.25 taxpayers are completely supporting 1 other person.

Granted, if those taxpayers have non-working dependents of their own, they may be supporting MORE than 1 person.  My housemate Adam, for instance, pays his full mandated amount of taxes (probably more than that, actually, since he doesn't itemize deductions) AND supports me at the same time.  I don't think this is a great state of affairs.  I would much rather be self-supporting, more because it'd give me somewhat more freedom and control over my life than because I consider our current situation to be straight-out immoral.  Our setup is one of voluntary exchange (although I'm getting more than he is from my perspective, at least), in contrast to whatever other invisible stranger he's helping to support at the point of a gun.

Enough about me, though.  I think one of the more grievous aspects of this situation is the incredible distortions it produces.  A lot of these welfare programs, for instance, can only be spent on specific goods, like medical care, food, housing, power, etc.  So regardless, money is being drained out of other areas of the economy and directed toward this, instead.  The various education benefits aren't even mentioned.  Here's the thing, too--I have NEVER made more money in a year than the final benefits cliff in that graphic, yet I have never received money from ANY of these programs.  Maybe I should have gotten myself knocked up.

And people wonder why I'm not rushing around straining myself to find a job.

300!

My hard work is paying off.  After weeks of being plateau'd at 310 lbs, I've finally cracked 300, meaning I've lost over 95 lbs.

Next goal: 200.  Should take about six weeks, right? :o)

Thought of the Day

One indication that your grasp of a given topic is progressing is when your first reaction to a dictionary definition is that you could improve that definition substantially.

Toxic People

Via Gus Van Horn I ran across this interesting article about detecting and dealing with toxic customers.  While I've dealt with my share of this sort of thing in my work life, what I find most interesting is that I run across huge numbers of people with precisely this kind of toxicity in their interpersonal dealings, particularly online.

I need to think about it some more, but offhand I'd have to say that it all seems to originate in the article's point #4: unrealistic expectations.  I think that's the biggest, brightest, and easiest-to-detect warning sign of toxicity in a person, and it seems to be pretty darn universal.  So the solution is that when somebody starts complaining or asking for things you don't intend to provide, do not bend over backwards for them.

This isn't the same as being a jerk and just refusing all requests.  Someone with realistic expectations and respect for you will articulate a reason as to why you should deviate from your course in order to help them out.  Things like,  "I'm terribly sorry, but I hurt my back yesterday and I just can't get this ladder down off the shelf . . ." or "I only have 40 minutes so could we do the ones I need first?"

The other good thing to note is that a non-toxic person will learn as much as possible from the general information you have available before asking questions.  It's a terrible red flag for me when I'm playing Dungeons and Dragons Online, have a quest posted in the Looking for More panel, and when someone joins the group the very first thing they ask is something they could determine for themselves by looking at the panel.  "What quest are you doing?" "Are you in progress?"  "What difficulty?"  "How long have you been in the quest?"  Now, I'll grant you, when I've got a group going and we switch between quests, sometimes I do forget to update which quest is the current quest.  If you're an experienced player, though, you can still tell by looking at the location listed for the party members.

The sad part is that toxic people are not always bad people.  Some of them are very nice, it's just that they are so befuddled and their skills for dealing with that befuddlement are so poor that there's just no profit for you of any kind in even attempting to deal with them.

Which leads to one last point.  The most valuable skill anyone can cultivate is to learn how to un-befuddle yourself.  You can know absolutely NOTHING about the task at hand and still be manage a valuable contribution if you grasp a method of fixing that problem rather than flailing about wildly and attempting to dump your issues onto whoever is closest.  Or, if worse comes to worst, you can maintain enough self-awareness to say "sorry, I'm too far out of my depth here" and get out of the way.

Brain Exclusivity

I ran across an interesting article today about some research that seems to indicate the parts of the brain responsible for processing certain types of information may exercise a large degree of exclusivity.  When you're feeling emotional connections, the analytic portion is largely inhibited, and vice versa when you're doing analytic work the emotional centers are largely inhibited.

It's true that this happens, at least from my own personal experience, because I have problems with depression and anxiety so I generally keep my emotions suppressed by being as analytical as I can manage at all times.  Chances are, when I'm being emotional (and it happens more often than I'd like), I'm completely non-functional.  The analytic part of my brain works.  The emotional part is a mess, so I have to stomp on it.  Unfortunately, this has unpleasant consequences in that a lot of the time I don't consciously feel much of anything at all.

Here's the thing, though, and this is why I have a different take on this than the researcher quoted in that article. I can have physical reactions to emotions I'm not consciously aware of "having".  When I got my wisdom teeth out, for instance, I was extremely shaky to the point that the dentist noticed even though I wasn't consciously aware of being any more nervous than I am all the time about everything.  So, I'm wondering if it isn't that your *emotions* are shut down, it's that the part of your brain that processes your emotions and passes them on to your, um, consciousness in the form of a "feeling" is shut down.  So the emotional reaction, whatever it is, is still humming along in the background, it's just not at the forefront of your attention.

I find this particularly interesting because research of this kind might actually be the key to discovering just how consciousness and volition actually operate.  What mechanism allows you to inhibit your awareness of emotion while bringing analysis to the forefront, and vice versa?  How is that mechanism controlled and initiated?

This may also be an explanation for the phenomenon of catharsis and also of self-abuse.  Possibly, even of sexual preferences.  It's clear to me that the switching mechanism, whatever it is, can develop problems.  There may even be multiple different kinds of switches, all of which can develop their own problems, so that flipping the switch to allow the experience of sexual desire or the release of extreme anxiety may require people to go through some strange or pretty extreme behavior.  Much like intentionally calling up a buried memory, you may have to get there through a circuitous route, summoning up one bit of context at a time until the path is established or the switch is flipped and the desired memory or feeling reaches your conscious awareness.

Bloodwork

So, I got a free glucose/ketone meter from Nova Biomedical for filling out a questionnaire, and I decided to test both today as a measure of how my diet is progressing.  So, here's the numbers:

Blood sugar = 83 mg/dL
Ketones = 0.2 mmol/L

That fasting blood sugar is pretty great, it's smack dab in the middle of the normal range (60-110 mg/dL).  However, I'm not in "nutritional ketosis" described as anywhere in the range between 0.5 and 3.0 mmol/L.  And I'm out of strips so I can't really monitor that.  Ketone strips are *expensive*, probably because demand is pretty low--diabetics only test their ketone levels once in a great while.

Still, I plan to go on monitoring my blood sugar (I should do a post-prandial in a couple of hours, after I have breakfast) to see how the diet is working at keeping it in check.  Keeping my blood sugar levels consistent is pretty much the only method I have of controlling my real problem: excess insulin.  Fortunately, it works pretty well.

Update: postprandial blood sugar, taken 1 hour after a meal: 88 mg/dL.  Awesome.

75!

So, I've lost at least 75 lbs.  I can put on all the pants that I bought, geez, more than a year ago but were too small then, which is good because most of my old pants (especially my old jeans) are now far too loose.  I'm about halfway to my next size down of too-small old pants (size 22) that I kept because they were just too nice to throw out.  Actually, I'm almost exactly halfway--down from size 34 to a comfortable size 28.

Adam has promised that when I get down to 250 (about his weight), he'll join me on the diet.  And he'll probably lose more weight faster, the skunk.

But I think I'm doing pretty well.

Assassin Country

(A little short story/thought experiment/whatever.)

I wonder, sometimes, if we're now in the business of manufacturing martyrs.

It started as a political theory.  Well, no, it really started because people were fed up.  Fed up with being bled, with nothing to show for it.  So there was a revolution, which is hardly anything new.  With most revolutions, all that changes is whose boot is on whose neck.  It's even worse if the theorists get a hold of it, because we're all just numbers to them.  They have no compunctions and no hesitation when it comes to making those numbers add up.  Somehow, we pulled the lucky number.  Or maybe this is God's little joke and we just haven't seen it yet.

I don't know most of the details, and those I do know I shouldn't write down.  Or speak about.  It might just be superstition, but most of what keeps us alive is what people don't know.  It buys us a little more time, another few minutes when the Republic of Naught isn't being invaded or bombed or glared at by the U.N.

Even our name is a joke.

It's a horrible thing, to survive buying your life a few minutes at a time.  If we're still lucky, things will get better, and we won't be the Most Important Thing to anyone any more.  That's what we really want; for people to forget we exist.

Anyway, the Boss has a new job for me, so it's my turn again to go out and maybe die for my country.  He seems to understand my mixed feelings about this; he's a regular guy underneath all the Orwell and Heinlein and Rand novels.  He doesn't expect a True Believer, doesn't want one, even.  He called me because I volunteered and I haven't quit yet.

And I'm a pretty good shot.

How does a small country survive when everyone around is bigger and better-armed?  It should be impossible.  They should roll over us and not even notice, like giants stirring in their sleep.  So, instead, we knock off the ones who make the threatening noises.  Kill the man before he gives orders to kill us.  That's our theory.

Is it working?  Who can say?  In practice we don't dare get too ambitious, and picking the right targets means you have to be practically omniscient.  Sooner or later, it just has to fail.  It's a strange country.

We're all assassins now.

Orange Spice Low-Carb Ice Cream

So, I got an ice cream maker.  I made chocolate for my first batch (you're shocked, I know) and it was okay but Adam was right when he said it was a tad chalky.  Plus, I thought it was too sweet.  Ice cream takes a little practice to get right because the cold sensation and the fat content changes how you perceive the sweetness, so I added more sweetener than I normally would have and it was too much.  I think if I decide to make chocolate again I'm going to heat the coconut milk so it'll absorb the cocoa powder better, then add the cream and chill it overnight.

Anyway, for my second batch today I made an orange spice flavor, and it is awesome.  My only regret was that I couldn't fit my head in the freezer tub to lick it completely clean.  Probably best anyway, not sure I'd want to explain to Adam later what all the white stuff in my hair was.

Here's the recipe I used (somewhat approximate)

1 tsp salt
1 tablespoon orange extract
1/2 tsp ground cloves
1/4 tsp ground ginger
3/4 cup xylitol or other non-caloric sweetener (adjust to taste--non-caloric sweeteners vary enormously)
Zest of one orange
juice of one orange
1 cup unsweetened coconut milk drink
2 cups heavy whipping cream

Basically just mix it all up in a bowl and pour it in your prepared ice-cream maker. I chilled the mixture overnight but I don't think this is mandatory, also the fat may separate out when you do this.  When it's done churning I decant it out, put it in tupperware (after resisting the urge to lick the apparatus), and freeze it for at least a couple of hours to let it stiffen up a bit. I  Some ice cream recipes use egg yolks but I haven't found this to be necessary, it makes the ice cream stiffer (and yellower) if you like it that way.

Saw this Coming

So, S. Korea has banned the sale of virtual items for real money.

There's really nothing more to say about this.  It's a stupid violation of people's rights, supposedly to "help combat crime" or because "games should be entertainment".  What a crock.  You don't combat crime by turning perhaps millions of previously honest citizens into criminals.

The funny part, to me, is that they don't seem to realize that they have basically BANNED INFORMATION by doing this.  You could argue that they've also now banned e-books and Netflix.  After all, a digital movie is a "virtual item".  What else does this stupid policy cover?  Cell phone minutes?  Online airplane tickets?

Oh, the wording probably restricts it to items that are used "in games", but that doesn't make it any less stupid. If the game producers have any sense, they'll shut down their offices in Korea, not release games there, not localize games for Korea, and basically treat the country as though it's ceased to exist, because you don't have any clue what kind of innocent-seeming transaction could land you with a $50,000 fine and 5 years in jail.

You'd think game companies were peddling child pornography, not imaginary swords and ammo.

The Devil and the Three Granaries

(Note:  In a lot of post-Christian folklore, the Trickster figure is referred to as "the Devil".  I've kept that for this story.)

One day, the Devil was passing through the farms at harvest-time, when he happened upon a farmer who was so well-to-do that he had three full barns full of grain, all waiting to be offloaded to merchants and sold in the market.  As you can imagine, the sight of so much prosperity made the Devil furious, and he immediately resolved to play a trick on the rich farmer.

The next day, when a merchant came with his wagon to buy grain, the farmer discovered that the first silo was full of nothing but the most disgusting manure imaginable.  The merchant was much dismayed, and had to be given a drink and sent away with a silver coin to settle his nerves, but the farmer spent the rest of the day going around to all of his neighbors and selling them quantities of the fine fertilizer now in his possession.  By the end of the day, he had a tidy profit that more than made up for the expense of having the barn thoroughly cleaned.

The Devil observed this and thought to himself, "ah, my lad, you made a mistake, farmers are earthy folks and not to be deterred by a little pig shit.  Now come up with a better plan!"

The next day, the merchant again returned with his wagon, hoping to buy a load of grain for sale in the city.  However, when the second granary was opened, it was discovered to contain nothing but thousands of spiders, snakes, scorpions, and other noxious beasts.  They burst out in a great wave of biting and scratching and stinging, and it was only luck that the farmer and the merchant managed to make it to the farmhouse before they were overcome and devoured alive.  The merchant was obliged to spend the night in the farmhouse, and it was only with a great deal of whiskey and soothing and offers of coin that he was convinced to give over his hysterics.

In the morning, it was discovered that the noxious creatures had all perished, but not before they had eaten up every mosquito, slug, tick, and rabbit for miles around, all the pests and annoyances that plague the farmer's life.  So, once again, the farmer pronounced this a good result, and, in fact, he estimated that it might be several years before the local population of pests recovered.

The Devil was terribly frustrated.  "Now, lad, you'd better think hard this time and come up with something really useless!"

On the next day, the merchant very timidly approached the farm.  This time, instead of accompanying the farmer, he insisted on staying at the house while the farmer went out alone and ascertained that everything was well.  When the barn was opened, at first, nothing appeared to be amiss, but then the farmer realized that instead of grain his granary was full to the brim with seeds of every type and description, most of which he couldn't identify.  The farmer stood there, scratching his head, and finally, the Devil, unable to stand the suspense, appeared in front of him.

"Hah, I've really got you this time!" said the Devil.

"I take it I have you to thank for this series of transformations, then?" the farmer said.

"Indeed!  I made a mistake the first two times, but there's no way you're getting any use out of this!"

"Well, what is it?"

"You mean you don't know?  I turned all your valuable grain into seeds that only grow into the most horrible weeds imaginable!  Thistles and dandelions and poison ivy!  Now, aren't you upset?"

The farmer thought for a moment, and then said, loudly, "But this is terrible!  I am undone!  Whatever will I do now!"  He tore at his hair and beat his breast and cried aloud in a paroxysm of grief.  The Devil burst into delighted laughter, did an obscene little dance, and then vanished.

Composing himself and straightening his clothing, the farmer returned to the house, where he found the merchant peeping carefully out of a window.  "I'm afraid I don't have any grain to sell you," the farmer said gravely.

"Three whole days without a purchase!" the merchant replied.  "This is terrible for my profits."

"Yes, I know, but you won't go back empty-handed today.  Instead of grain, I have all sorts of seeds with a variety of medicinal uses for you."

"But that's even better!" cried the merchant.

"I know!" said the farmer, grinning.  "It's a good thing for us that devil wasn't too bright!"

How the Baboons Hunted the Leopard

(Note: I've been reading several compilations of folktales and fairy stories, so I thought it would be fun to try writing a few myself.  It seems like a good way to practice writing stories that are a.) short, and b.) are focused more on plot than style.)

Now, it happened once that on the edge of the savannah there was a very beautiful leopard.  Her fur was brighter than gold, her spots blacker than obsidian, and her teeth and claws like polished ivory.  Her eyes, like citrines, glowed with cunning and ferocity.  She hunted as and when she would and when she dragged away the young, tender zebra or water buffalo, the elders of the herd would sigh and say, "well, that is life on the savannah" and go about their grazing.  The tribes of jackals and hyenas would gaze longingly on the tall trees where she stuffed her many kills, but they never attempted to trouble the leopard or interfere with her business.

Now, it also happened that a tribe of baboons arrived and decided to settle on this part of the savannah.  They were a large and prosperous tribe because their ancient grandfather was wise and cunning and always led them to the best water, forage, and hunting.  They never suffered from the depredations of lions, jackals, or hyenas, for the wise grandfather was always alert and could present such a fearsome aspect, hooting and jumping and hurling stones and sticks, that even the fearsome she-lions would slink away.

The wise grandfather baboon was resting one day on his favorite rock, when up ran his great-great niece shrieking and hurling herself about in a frenzy.  "A leopard took my child!" she cried over and over in great distress.  The wise grandfather was enraged, for he had seen no leopard slinking across the savannah, and yet here it had stolen away with one of his relations.  He wasted no time, but ordered one of his women to groom the distressed mother.  Then he gathered the rest of the tribe and said, "we must hunt this leopard, so it will not steal any more of our children".  The tribe was silent, because even though the grandfather was old and wise, it did not seem possible that they could ever succeed in hunting a leopard. 

Straightaway, the grandfather set the tribe to digging a pit.  They dug and they dug, until the pit was as large as they could make it, and then they covered it over with tree branches and grasses until you could not tell that it was any different from any other part of the savannah.  Then the grandfather set his tribe to relaxing and playing, to wait for the leopard to return in search of a meal.

Sure enough, the next day, here came the leopard, stalking up so slow and so quiet that no one could see her until she was ready to pounce.  She lowered her head, and her tail lashed, and she sprang forward, only to fall right through the ground into a pit.  The baboons were delighted, and rushed to the side of the pit, only to see the leopard spring straight up and land back on the ground.  She was so disgusted that she grabbed two of the youngest baboons and instantly made off with them.

Now the whole tribe took to wailing and shrieking and cursing the leopard, who was too mighty to be caught in the largest pit they could dig.  One or two of them even made so bold as to curse the wise grandfather whose plan had failed.  So he pretended to fly into a rage, hooting and hurling stones and sticks and cuffing his relations until they obeyed him once again and fell silent.  He then sent the tribe to procure a great heavy log, which they propped up with a stick to create a deadfall.  Once again, the grandfather set the tribe to playing and relaxing, and here came the leopard to get another tasty morsel.  When she ran in, striking with her ivory claws and biting with her ivory teeth, the baboon tribe leaped up all in a panic, and one of them ran right into the propped-up log.  Crash! the log came hurtling down on top of the baboon tribe, squashing six of them in one moment.  The leopard took the advantage, seized three of their children, and made off with them.

The entire tribe of baboons now gave themselves over to hysteria, and no amount of cuffing or hooting from the grandfather could calm them.  At last, so outraged were they, that they attacked him with sticks and stones and drove him entirely from the camp.  Bruised and exhausted, he wandered all day and all night until he could go on no longer.  When he was just about to lay down and die, he realized that he was on the edge of a small pool, and thought that a drink of water might restore him.  But when he approached the pool, he realized that the leopard was lying overhead on a great branch, waiting for any incautious animal to approach.

"Well," the grandfather baboon said to the leopard, "it seems you are too clever for me.  If I don't get a drink I will die, but if I do, you will fall upon me and kill me."

"That is the way of the savannah," agreed the leopard.  "It was silly of you, the prey, to try to hunt me, the predator."

"Baboons are hunters, too," said the grandfather.

"Only of small, weak animals they can seize with their hands and beat to death.  You are not fit to hunt anything larger and more dangerous than yourself.  Just look at me.  Look at my sleek fur and muscles and ivory claws.  No creature with a crooked tail and pink bottom could ever defeat me."

"But you have a pink bottom, too," said the grandfather baboon.

"What?!" cried the leopard.  "I certainly do not!"

"Yes you do!  You must have gone bald behind while you weren't looking!"

The leopard craned her neck, trying to get a look at her own bottom, but it was useless.  She thrashed and writhed and made such a fuss that the branch she was lying on broke and she fell onto the rocks below, where she lay still, knocked senseless.  The grandfather seized on a rock and beat her head once, twice, three times.  Then he ran off and called for his tribe, and they tore the leopard into a thousand pieces.  

Another WoW-killer?

So, Bethesda has announced  that their next Elder Scrolls game is going to be an MMO.  I wonder how long it's going to be until somebody starts touting it as the "potential WoW-killer".

It'll probably be interesting, but I expect it'll be as much of a WoW-killer as Star Wars: The Old Republic turned out to be, i.e. not very much.  Here's why:

Bethesda is not a gameplay master.

Bioware has the same problem, and when they made an MMO, they tried to take the thing they're good at (writing) and put that in the MMO "genre" somehow.  And, yeah, SW:TOR has vastly superior writing for an MMO.  However, it has mediocre, derivative gameplay.  And the exploration isn't all that, either.

Where does Bethesda really shine?  Exploration.  So I kind of expect that ESOnline (Grr, I can't call it ES:O because that'd be confusing with Oblivion) will have utterly awesome exploration aspects.  The writing and gameplay will probably be mediocre and derivative, though.  Heck, the Molag Bal thing hinted about in the Escapist article was basically the main plot of ES: Oblivion.  They borrow even off their OWN stories. Bethesda is the exploration master.  Oh, even SW:TOR has pretty scenery (at least, for Imperials it does once you get off the horrible Planet of Mustard Yellow, i.e. Hutta), and they have speeders to get around and codex entries to find and datacrons to seek out, but once you've been round the block these become a chore that must be accomplished to fill out your character.  I expect that ESOnline will have umpteen bazillion more opportunities of this kind, better designed, better thought-out, and rewarding in a way that will keep people engaged in exploration even after they've capped their first toon.

MMO's, though, when you get right down to it, are about GAMEPLAY.  That's what ultimately keeps people playing for years on end.  Not the story.  Not the running around poking into things.  The fact that the core game mechanic, whatever it is (generally, murdering tons of dudes), is FUN.

That is where Blizzard shines, and always has, since Warcraft: Orcs and Humans.  If anything is going to be a WoW-killer, it'll be whatever new MMO Blizzard is working on, because, whatever else, you can bet that they won't have mediocre, derivative gameplay.  Heck, Diablo III will probably be a better WoW-killer than anything Bethesda is likely to work up.

I grant you, gameplay ALONE a WoW-killer doth not make.  I think Dungeons and Dragons Online has really fun gameplay (and has been making Turbine money for over six years as a result), it just doesn't have quite the breadth of appeal to aspire to WoW-killer status.  I think it's pretty safe to say that nearly their entire user base consists of two groups: kids who try it because it's free, and adults who liked 3rd or earlier edition D&D.  This is not a large group of people.  WoW appeals to many, many more people than "people who liked Warcraft".  However, the appeal of Star Wars is enormous, but that didn't make SW:TOR a WoW-killer.

In the end, gameplay is king of MMO's.  Get that right, and you at least have the potential to aspire to WoW-killer-hood.  Get it wrong, and you will never make it there no matter how much you have going for you in other areas.

Sigh

So, here's today's XKCD.

Now, I don't really have (that much) of a problem if people just outright disagree with Ayn Rand.  But misinterpretation on this scale gets pretty annoying.  Or, worse, if it's not actually misinterpretation, and people somehow believe that letting people bear the consequences for their actions equates with "be a huge asshole".

Since the general consequences of being a "huge asshole" to people are that you wind up bitter and alone, I'd have to say that the philosophical recommendation of Objectivism (inasmuch as there is one) would be "don't be a huge asshole".  Why do people think that it's in your self-interest to be a hateful jerk?  It's so much easier to get people to do what you need when they have a reason to give a damn about what happens to you.  Heck, if you're enough of a jerk, people may not even be willing to help you out when it's otherwise in their own personal, immediate interests, because they'd rather suffer a little than tolerate you.

This doesn't mean you should go around handing out bits of your life and soul door-to-door, desperately trying to buy the affections of people who mean nothing to you.  It CERTAINLY doesn't mean that you should do this to try and buy the affections of people who are actively out to harm you.

If that's being an asshole, so  be it.

What I'm On

So, I've been taking a lot of pills lately.


With breakfast I take:
1 Multivitamin
3 Vitamin D
1 Probiotic

And at bedtime I take
2 Melatonin

I've only just started taking the probiotic and the melatonin.  I think my gastric flora (or fauna?  Are bacteria plants or animals?  Wait, they're neither.  Hmmmmmmmmm.) have been a bit messed up and starting to recover, and I think taking the probiotic will help speed this process.  In any case, I plan to only take it a until I run out of what I bought.  It doesn't make sense to me that probiotics would be something you should take forever.  To refresh your gut, yeah.  But if your internal environment is in such condition that you can't support the bugs after reintroducing them, I suspect you need to change something ELSE instead.

The melatonin is an experiment to see if it can help me sleep better.  I sleep a LOT (like 12 hours a day, consistently), and I've always had problems falling asleep and then later, waking up.   I'm not insomniac, exactly (once I am asleep, I STAY THAT WAY), it's just that my body seems to have a hard time switching between "I'm tired" and "I'm awake now", and vice versa.

Some of this I suspect is related to body temperature regulation.  If I take a hot shower either first thing in the morning or last thing at night, it kicks me over into either "I'm awake" or "Sleepy now".  Eating first thing in the morning actually seems to make me MORE sleepy, although I do feel better later in the day if I have some kind of breakfast.  Plus I need breakfast so I can take my pills.  Long experience has shown me that if I take pills without food, I feel ill.

I'll try to report later on whether the melatonin seems to be having any kind of effect.  Thus far it seems to have helped me reset my sleep cycle so I'm going to bed at a reasonable-ish time (1 am) and waking up at a reasonable-ish time, (9 am) but it's too early to tell.

50 lbs!

So, I've lost 50 lbs. Not bad, although considering I started this, what, sometime last June, it's not exactly stellar weight loss, like 5 lbs a month. I've fallen off the diet a couple of times (for a day or two), so it might have been better. But my clothes are all quite loose now, and I'm about a quarter of the way to my goal weight. That's a substantial percentage.

Now to keep on keepin' on.

Awesome

I just ran across this announcement from Wikipedia. Bravo, guys. The fact that SOPA is horrible, horrible legislation cannot be stated often enough.

Say Something

I ran across a couple of things today that just made me want to say something about Iran in particular and Islam in general. Or maybe Islam isn't general enough, maybe it's just stupid, vile, barbaric, monstrous evil. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Anyway, the first thing I ran across was this news item, courtesy of the Escapist. I know it's really nothing to be surprised about. It's par for the course, about what you'd expect of that violence-and-hatred-spewing pit people refer to as Iran. Nevertheless, I was genuinely shocked and sickened when I read about Amir Mizra Hekmati, former U.S. Marine, being sentenced to death for developing video games. Oh, the White House is calling for his release. Isn't that nice. Is it too much to hope that they'll take some real action that cannot be ignored and has a chance of producing some results? Probably.

The second thing was this blog entry from Diana Hsieh. These are pretty much the sentiments I've expressed before. If you self-identify with barbarians, don't be surprised if people treat you like one. It's part of the reason why I've become increasingly reluctant to self-identify as an Objectivist over the years. It's not that I disagree with Objectivism, far from it. In fact, the older I get and the more I learn, the more solidly Objectivist I am. Do I agree with every word Ayn Rand ever wrote? No. I'm not sure its actually possible to BE an Objectivist AND agree with EVERYTHING Ayn Rand ever wrote. I think she might even agree with me on that point. However, my real problem is that I vehemently disagree with many of the whackjobs out there who go around claiming to be Objectivists. Some of these people make me, quite literally, sick to my stomach, and since they are universally loud and obnoxious, people often have a greater awareness of them than of real Objectivists or of the philosophy itself.

The only reason I self-identify as an Objectivist at all is because people ask presumptuous questions they don't really want answers to, usually because they will also fire off complex philosophical statements as if they were self-evident facts, expecting the company to agree with them. I'm sorry, but I'm not willing to just let that sort of thing pass. Just letting it pass is how you eventually end up with Iran. Far better to speak up when the worst thing that will happen to you is that someone you likely despise anyway will get huffy or call you names. If you wait until they have weapons and a following and feel free to use them, it's too late. Maybe not too late in some cosmic sense--even the worst, biggest, most oppressive barbarian regime can be overthrown. But it WILL be too late for all the hundreds, thousands, millions of people who will suffer and die before that gets done. Anyway, identifying as an Objectivist is my way of giving a concise answer when people ask questions like "so what do you believe?" and immediately stop paying attention. They don't care to hear the full answer, the reasons for the answer.

I don't often speak up any more. I more or less avoid forums where speaking might be required, partly because I'm only now starting to realize just how sick I've been over the past couple of years. I don't mean sick of talking. I mean sick, physically ill. Now, due to radical changes in my diet, I'm starting to get better. So, I'm saying something. Maybe more later.

Steve Jobs, RIP

I was shocked when I saw the news about the death of Steve Jobs. My iPod is one of my most beloved possessions. Even though it's a simple thing, it has changed my life for the better.

So, I'd just like to take this moment to say thank you to Mr. Jobs for all his hard work. I hope it made him as happy as it made me, only, you know, about a million times magnified.

13 Lbs.

So, from my earlier total of 379 lbs, today I'm down to 366. No kidding. Not exactly the speediest weight loss ever, but not bad, either. I'm not hungry, but I wouldn't say I have tons of energy--I've been sleeping a lot the past few days. A LOT. 12-14 hours a day. I've tried getting up after 8 or 10 hours, but I'm tired and cranky and I feel stressed for the entire rest of the day.

I think what's causing it is that over the past few days I've been getting most of my calories from protein (specifically, meat) instead of fat. On the days when I eat more fat and less protein, I have better energy. So today I'm not having any meat. For breakfast I had a big mug of tea and cream. I've kind of skipped lunch since I slept until 2, and for dinner I'm having avocado salad with almonds and some provolone slices. It was originally going to be guacamole, but I put the tomatoes in before I mushed the avocado (I wasn't paying attention) so I just mixed it around a bit instead of smashing it into goo. It still tastes good. I also discovered, rather amusingly, that I had 3 containers half-full of sour cream in the fridge. If I only use half the container, it doesn't register on me, so I just buy a new container instead of using what I already have. I prefer making my guacamole with sour cream instead of cream cheese. I like the texture and the more acid flavor better. I'm sure most people don't make it with either, but eh, whatever, bite me. This is how I make it.

My no-soap (well, sort of) project is going really well. I don't use any soap or body wash on my skin at all. The only thing I use is some Tom's Natural Deodorant (it's not an antiperspirant, just a deodorant), which works quite well and doesn't irritate my skin (much), so my pits look more like skin and less like the surface of the moon. It doesn't last as long as an antiperspirant, but it works well enough. (Yeah, I'm sure everybody wants to hear all about my pits. Whatever. Bite me.) The skin on my face (er, and my butt, but I won't go into that) is where I've seen the biggest difference--it feels MUCH softer and I have no need for moisturizer. If I take a hot shower, it'll still feel a bit dry/tight immediately afterward, but it goes away very quickly. I also don't seem to need to exfoliate--except on my feet, but that's more of a result of my refusal to wear shoes unless I absolutely have to. If my skin feels a little dry, I'll use some olive oil in the shower and it goes right away.

My hair was giving me grief for the longest time, though, as I could NOT get it to stop feeling greasy, which was sad because it was lovely and glossy and healthy, you just couldn't touch it because it was nasty-feeling. However, I've started using Kirk's Castille Soap on it every 3-4 days, and the greasy feeling is gone, while still leaving all the nice benefits of no shampoo. I have no need to use conditioner, my scalp doesn't itch, it's all good. The funny part is that I've found if I soap my ears really well my hair takes longer to start feeling greasy again. Apparently my *ears* produce massive amounts of oil, enough that removing it with soap is beneficial.

I probably would continue this even if it didn't improve matters, because why pay money for products that basically don't do anything but make bubbles. However, since I have seen improvements I don't see any reason to go back to using body wash/shampoo.

Tits and Ass

Something that has bugged me for a long time, but in a somewhat inarticulate way, is women (and men) complaining about various artistic portrayals of women being "hyper-sexualized" or "objectified", particularly in video games, comic books, the media, whatever, as if this is an assault on "regular" women. An assault perpetrated by men for the purpose of hurting women.

My problem with this, I've come to realize, is that it's just ignoring way too much context. Are these portrayals of women exaggerated? Yes. But so are the portrayals of men in the same media. I don't know a lot of men who view the impossibly-ripped superhero as an assault on their self-esteem.

I think it has more to do with how men and women view physical attractiveness. Most of the men I know view it as something you build--which is true, if you want to get ripped, you go to the gym, you work out, you eat right, and you develop a nice muscular build. So if they don't have one, they don't view it as some hopeless endeavor, it's just that they're not that interested in it. They do other things with their time, and get their self-esteem from those things.

For women, though, having a perfect body/face/skin/hair seems a lot more of a genetic thing, so no matter how much effort you invest, you can only do so much. Even cosmetic surgery can only go so far. They are defeated before they begin. A *hopeless* ideal does not inspire self-esteem. It inspires self-loathing.

It's just another example of the destructive effects of irrational perfectionism.

Lead me into Temptation

So, today I thought about having some chocolate. Then I decided not to. I wasn't really craving chocolate, it was just that before when I've been feeling a bit ill like I did today, chocolate helped. The caffeine, sugar, fat, and seretonin effects really do make me feel better.

The trouble was, it didn't seem worth it. I have to eat a LOT of chocolate for it to have a noticeable effect (practically OD on the stuff), and I didn't want to go off my diet because I've been having several really good effects from the low-carb, high-fat method I've adopted. I'm losing weight (370.6 today at my Official Weighing) and about 75% of my joint pain/stiffness has just vanished. Gone. Kaput. I can sit (or stand, or lie down) in one position and I don't swell like a balloon and wind up so stiff I can barely move.

I don't want that to go away. At all. It's taken me a little over 10 days of consistent 100% attendance to the best diet practices I've been able to discover to attain that. I do NOT want to start over again at day one. Not even for chocolate.

So it's not at all difficult for me to decide to avoid the stuff I know will throw me off. And the longer I go, the less I want to get reset back to day one. At last, a trait I can use to help me instead of hinder me. Once I've sunk a certain amount of effort into something, I don't want to go back and start over no matter how beneficial it might be.

Mad Science!

So, I decided to experiment a little with making a LCHF (low carb high fat) dessert. It did not go so well.

First I made a crumble crust for a pie. Only instead of using graham crackers, I used flaxseed meal and chopped almonds held together with butter. This was the only really successful part of the pie, and it tasted great. I think I needed to chop the almonds a bit more thoroughly, though, as the larger chunks had a tendency to fall out of the crust. But it certainly held together as well as any graham cracker crust I've ever made.

Then I made custard for pie filling. This went okay. I used egg yolks and cream with stevia and lemon extract to make the custard. Next time I'm going to use more cream and fewer egg yolks. I think I may just go ahead and use a little sugar or honey, too, as the Stevia tastes kind of salty to me after it's been baked. It just doesn't have any real sweetness to it. Also the lemon extract was a bust--it could not be tasted in the final product AT ALL. Next time I'm using lemon juice and lemon zest instead. (I was planning on using it this time, unfortunately I forgot to get an actual lemon on my way out of the store.)

Then I tried to make meringue using the egg whites. This was laughably bad. Apparently you HAVE to use SUGAR to make a proper meringue. Also it was hot and humid in the kitchen so the stuff just would NOT set. I gave it my best shot but I think I'm just not going to bother with this next time. The custard is plenty indulgent without any meringue, and I can use the egg whites to make egg drop soup or something.

Also, as a note, if you've never made meringue before, it makes about 10 times the volume (or more) than you had of egg whites. Useful to know so you don't end up overflowing your bowl.

Overall, not the best dessert I've ever made, but it was really low in carbs, for sure. And dinner (oven-roasted chicken drumsticks and creamed spinach) was good.

Also, it was the first time in three years that I used that eggbeater.

Grandstanding?

First, click on this link.

See that red text across the top? Doesn't that sound ominous? Really sounds like Turbine is screwing someone over, eh?

Except that having all classes for free is NOT part of the VIP agreement. In fact, one of the classes in DDO (Favored Soul) is ALREADY buy only (or it can be earned with favor). Artificer uses precisely the same model--you can buy it, or you can earn it with favor. It's my understanding that during the shakedown period while the new update gets implemented, it may *temporarily* be impossible to get it just with favor. Whoop-te-doo. Every update takes a while to get fully set up. Why? 'Cause it's friggin' complicated, is why.

I'm not hugely in favor of grandstanding even when your grievance is legitimate. THIS is just DUMB.

That Is . . . Large

So, my mom got me a scale for my birthday (which is next month, but never mind) so I can have some help in my dieting. It arrived today. It is a nice scale. I really like it. Except it appears to be broken, because when I stand on it it says 391 lbs.

Faith and begorrah. That is way more Jennifer than anyone could possibly want.

No WONDER my ankles hurt.

Addendum: Actually, my joke about the scale being "broken" was quasi-accurate. It got stuck somehow and I had to take the batteries out and turn them around and whack them a few times before it would zero. So the actual number is 379 lbs. Wow, I feel SOOOOO much better.

Not. Bleh.

Mastermind?

I stumbled upon this game:

It's a memory game, fair enough, and I played it for a few minutes. The thing I found really odd about it was that when I just looked at the images, I had about a 50% success rate. Not particularly noteworthy. When I NAMED the images in my mind (even if it was the most basic description of "man with dog"), my success rate INSTANTLY jumped to 100%.

Yeah. Verbal. That's me.

Trashed

So, our bathroom is kind of exploded at the moment. Fortunately we have a spare.

Updatery

Well, thus far the diet is going well, meaning that I'm still on it. I feel that I've lost some weight (still no scale, so I'm not sure), but my various ailments are much reduced. I was taking vitamins daily for a while, but I've stopped because they were making me sick to my stomach. I don't seem to digest solid vitamin pills well and after a few days of taking them I get all kinds of unpleasant digestive symptoms.

I've been reading Tom Naughton's Fat Head blog and watching his various videos. from the "Fat Head" movie (which you can watch free on Hulu) to "Science for Smart People" (which you can watch free on YouTube) and "Big Fat Fiasco" (which you can watch free on YouTube). I find these to be both amusing and (somewhat) informative. I'm not sure how much science there is behind the explanation of how insulin resistance causes you to get fat, though. It sounds sensible, but so does the lipid hypothesis, you know.

However, that being said, the biggest recent change I've noticed is that I now get hungry in a reasonable sort of way (and I want reasonable amounts of food). Today I had some beef liver pate and celery sticks for lunch, and now I'm hungry and making chili (no beans) for dinner. I was hungry around 5pm and it's almost 10 now. If I'd gotten hungry around 5 before, by 10 I would be an absolute wreck, shaky, feeling half-frozen, possibly even passed out in bed. I feel fine. I'm not tired, (I am hungry), but I don't feel wasted and shaky.

So that's good, at least. I'm going to track down a scale so I can weigh myself. It's been approx. 2 months since I started so I figure the water weight loss has mostly ceased and now I can actually get an idea of how much I weigh and what/if I'm losing.

Really? Really?!

I saw what has got to be the dumbest commercial ever to exist last night. Well, okay, maybe not, but still. It was a spot advertising MSNBC, which apparently is some sort of leftist propaganda channel or show (not sure about that, but I caught less than a minute of it and they used the term "plutocrat" to describe wealthy Republicans THREE TIMES. IN LESS THAN A MINUTE.). Anyway, this advertising spot consisted of a woman standing in a canyon with a rather large bridge behind her. She said, self-righteously, that "we need government leadership because there aren't enough profits out there for any private enterprise to build something like this on spec".

Um, what?

There's just so much wrong with that idea that I decided to make a list. Note that this doesn't even *approach* being a comprehensive list.

1. Enormous things get built by private enterprise all the time. On spec. Even with our enormous bloated government draining the economy. So money is not the problem.

2. If there is money to be made but not enough for your grandiose bridge project, private enterprise will come up with SOME kind of solution. Maybe not as scenic.

3. The government (via tons of building and environmental regulations, among other things) is generally the force *preventing* huge undertakings from going forward. See: nuclear power or gas pipelines or oil drilling. So looking to government "leadership" probably means that you didn't want that bridge built in the first place.

4. Said government "leadership" has no incentive to provide infrastructure that is actually well-designed and well-placed. As such it is generally inefficient and wastes most of the money it uses.

5. Government money is taken by force from the very people you claim can't make enough profits to do this on their own. Huh, I wonder if a crushing tax burden coupled with rising inflation has anything to do with that.

Yeesh.

But I Don't Believe That!

Here's something I'm never going to understand:

Radical members of X group expressly believe some outrageous bit of stupidity, like that video games are "corrupting youth" or that having sex is somehow "sinful" or that non-believers ought to be viciously murdered or that humans are "destroying the planet" or whatever. Then, when some better person says "you X's are idiots for believing this bit of outrageous stupidity" some marginally-less-radical X comes along and says "I'm an X, and I don't believe that, therefore X is perfectly fine!"

WRONG.

The correct interpretation of the statement "I'm an X, and I don't believe that!" is not "X is perfectly fine!" it is "But I self-identify with X regardless of the fact that I don't actually believe in X thus granting sanction to the outrageous bit of stupidity and encouraging the people who do believe it".

Bottom line: if you disagree with the actual tenets of a belief system, don't identify yourself as a follower of that belief system. If you go ahead and call yourself an X anyway, guess what, you *deserve* to be tarred with the same brush. Heck, you're WORSE than the radicals--they at least have the courage of their convictions. Or the courage to HAVE convictions. YOU are a disgraceful milquetoast hypocrite parlor pink.

Hmph.

Captain America

So, first let me start out by saying that if you like superhero movies, you'll probably really enjoy Captain America. By most standards it appears to be a really good movie. I just had a terrible time getting into it, myself.

That's not to say I didn't enjoy it, I did, but the progress of the story all felt extremely wooden to me, kind of like watching Saturday Morning Cartoons where everything is telegraphed a little too much so the (presumably younger) audience can follow along. The camera just dwells way too long on things in order to let you know they're Important, and much of the dialog is delivered in a way that makes it feel too pat.

This is probably just a personal thing, but I found it irksome enough that I didn't enjoy the movie thoroughly.

Limitless

Adam and I watched this movie last night, and I have to say the movie I'm most strongly reminded of is No Country for Old Men. Not because they have any superficial qualities in common, but they share a self-sabotaging sort of ending that purposefully and maliciously destroys the theme of the movie and replaces it with something rather vile.

Oh, just as a quick aside before I get started pulling this thing to bits: from the trailers I honest-to-goodness thought Bradley Cooper was Jake Gyllenhaal. Now that I look them up, they don't look all that similar, but good grief how many brown-haired scruffy youngish men are there hanging about in Hollywood? Do they all have to have the same haircut? Sheesh.

The general plot of this movie at the start is not too original (more, unusual, as in you don't see it quite as often). Cooper plays Edward Morra, a down-at-the heels would-be writer who is too depressed and out-of-focus to produce anything. He is, essentially, the most stereotypical of stereotypical smart-ish loser types. Heck, I'm one myself. He lives in a crappy apartment, he's divorced, his girlfriend left him, it's all pretty pathetic.

The character/situation development is rather undercut by this whole part of the story being narrated, by the way, and the movie begins with a flash-forward scene informing you, in no uncertain terms, that Something Bad Is Going To Happen. Even the trailers weren't too coy about the basic premise of Limitless. As a result, I spent most of the movie waiting for the surprise. That's just the problem though--there isn't one.

Limitless doesn't only lack surprise, it lacks any conflict whatsoever. Time and time again, you think some sort of conflict is going to develop--Morra is going to be forced to question what he's doing and where he's going--something is going to happen. And it never does. Terrible things occur as a result of this miracle drug that turns Morra into a super-genius. Many people die, some of them at Morra's hands. Yet what happpens in the end? He outsmarts everyone and gets away free.

This is, essentially, a story of someone who magically wins the "lottery of life". At the beginning of the movie, anyone who is struggling in their life can certainly identify with Morra's situation. Yet by the end that identification and meaning are completely stripped out. I'm not a super-genius with all the money in the world and the solutions to everything. Why the heck would I root for someone who is just because he is?

The problem is that Morra never displays any *moral* characteristics. He doesn't decide to "do good" with his newfound superpowers. He doesn't decide to bring the drug to the world (even though it's revealed by the end that he's figured out how to "beat" the horrendous side effects). At the end, he's running for president, but goodness knows what kind of policies a characterless non-entity would decide to implement. It is the ultimate in Naturalist movie-making, just a series of randomish events that don't add up to anything other than, hey, I got lucky and got a hold of a big pile of money and killed some people and drank a guy's blood and whoop, I totally got away with it! Awesome!

While that might be a fun wish-fulfillment fantasy for some, it's not a story that means anything. It reminds me of the sentiment in Terry Pratchett's novel Hat Full of Sky: "In any story worth the telling, the third wish is the one that puts everything back the way it was." It is not wishing or luck or miracle drugs that get you ahead in life.

By presenting intelligence in this light--as an amoral faculty of luck and deceit--what Limitless really conveys is a profound hatred of the intellect. But this isn't the misguided yet honest hatred of a man of limited intelligence who is suspicious or envious of something he cannot have. This is a form of what Ayn Rand called "hatred of the good for being the good"--a wish, not to seize a value, but for it to cease to exist. It is a parade of anti-intellectualism wearing the trappings of the intellect, all the worse for its sheer banality.

Fortunately, due to its banality it is likely to disappear without even a ripple. At least, one can hope.

Carbs: I Need Dem

So, in the third week of doing Paleo here, and I've started adding some "non-toxic" carbs back into my diet out of desperation, because I basically turned into a zombie there for a while. I could not stay awake. Well, I could, but I was sad, weepy. All the time. And I couldn't focus. It took me (literally) 45 minutes to put on a pair of pants yesterday. Finally, I had some ice cream.

Boom, fixed.

I waited up to make sure it hadn't just spiked my blood sugar and sent me into a sugar high, but I didn't have any sugar high symptoms, I merely felt "normal" for the first time in days. I could pay attention, I wanted to do stuff, I felt normally tired at the normal time. So I'm going to start eating some potatoes and whatever else I find I tolerate well (excepting grains/legumes for the time being). And I won't worry about adding a small spoonful of sugar to my tea.

I don't think I've ever really been hyperglycemic. I've had my blood sugar tested immediately after eating a large, carb-filled meal and my blood sugar was NORMAL. I suspect, but do not know, that I may be generally HYPOglycemic. It'd be nice to have an actual professional I could ask about this, but I've ALWAYS had low blood sugar in the mornings (part of why it's so painful for me to haul myself out of bed). My average body temp is lowish--97.9 instead of 98.6.

I don't want to go crazy and start diagnosing myself with everything under the sun. I don't have *most* of the symptoms of hypoglycemia, just incredibly sluggish tiredness. I don't get lightheaded or pass out, but I will feel really weak and shaky if I've gone a while without food. While I suspect some of this might be the result of my former habit of loading up on carbs and sugary foods, over the past few weeks I've definitely learned that the tiredness is NOT an effect of that. I NEED some carbohydrates for fuel so I don't turn into a zombie.

Yum

So, I did something today for the first time ever: I made an omelet. I've never made an omelet before, I could never get them to turn out. They always wound up as scrambled eggs. But this time I got my non-stick pan nice and hot, melted a knob of butter in it, and just poured enough eggs in to barely cover the bottom of the pan. Add a little cheese, and you've got a lovely decadent paleo omelet. Yum yum yum.

I also saw some Dagoba unsweetened drinking chocolate at the store, so I got some coconut milk, added just a little Stevia, and voila, omelet with hot chocolate for dinner.

It's so nice, because I was feeling really down in the dumps today, and this cured it.

Faster

(As always, click the post title to go check out the Official Movie Site).

So, I watched Faster a while ago with Adam, and I have to say, the movie really surprised me. It's not even close to what I guessed it might be about. I was expecting some kind of fast-driving crime-glorifying (or at least outlaw-glorifying) action movie, but that's not what Faster is at all. It's a movie about people making horrible decisions and then trying to move on in some fashion. Yet, ultimately, they can't escape the rippling negative consequences of their decisions.

In Faster, Dwayne Johnson plays the victim of a bank job gone horribly wrong when another gang interfered. They tortured him and his brother for information, then killed his brother and nearly killed him by shooting him in the back of the head. He winds up in jail for ten years, and immediately upon release goes after the other gang for revenge, killing them one after another.

One of the things I like a lot about this movie is that it makes excellent use of the principle of Chekov's Gun--even seemingly insignificant details like the main character having a metal plate holding his skull together have their part to play in the story. I also like that revenge itself is not glorified, either, it is shown as a horrific act that, even given extreme provocation, Johnson's character has to force himself to carry out in some cases.

Most of the characters in the movie don't have names, a stylistic choice that I think works well. There's no glitz to this movie at all, no glamor, it is a straight-out tale told in the sparest way possible, a morality play of sorts. However, there's no real message here other than that actions have consequences, so it doesn't come across as some sort of syrupy public-service "take your vitamins" message film.

I think my favorite scene is about 2/3 of the way through the movie, after Driver (the only moniker given for Johnson's character) has killed a bouncer at a nightclub. The bouncer instructed Driver to call the bouncer's son on his cell phone and explain what happened. Driver does this, and then the son vows to undertake his own revenge. Driver doesn't apologize or try to make excuses, he simply says "you do what you have to do".

This declaration that the revenge is not some consequence-less act really brings home the movie for me. It strips things down to their naked essence--that this movie reviles evil as such, even when it's the "protagonist" doing the evil things. Driver is not a fully sympathetic character as a result. What he's doing *is* evil. However, he's not shown in the light of a helpless victim, either. *Everyone* in the movie chose to do what they did, and suffered for it when they chose badly.

So, despite its focus on crime, murder, and revenge, Faster is actually a benevolent movie, because it focuses on what ultimately *also* allows people to live good lives: free choice.

Here We Go Again

So, after determining that I've sunk about as low as I can go emotionally and physically, I've had enough. First step is to get out of this stupid funk I'm in. So I decided a dietary change and exercise routine were of primary importance to getting my life back on track.

With Adam's (sort of) blessing, I've gone onto a paleo diet again. (He doesn't care what I eat or cook as long as he gets fed something he's willing to eat when he wants it, apparently.) Well, paleo-ish. I've cut grains, sugar, beans completely out of my diet. I've been eating a little fruit (berries) with some cream and a little stevia for sweetening as something dessert-like. The first couple of days were kind of nasty--I could barely keep my eyes open, and if I wasn't constantly engaged I'd find myself dozing off. However, the near-constant heartburn/sour stomach I'd been experiencing for the past few months was just GONE. Completely. Instantly. I'm over the dozies (yay!) and no return of stomach pains/heartburn.

The swelling in my feet has gone down a bit (not completely, but what do you expect?) and my ankles are still a BIT sore, but not too bad. I expect this will gradually improve with consistent diet and exercise.

Today, I decided to start my exercise program with the GoFit kettlebell/dvd I got. It's a 7 lb kettlebell (the smallest they had, and it's lovely girly magenta just to bring home the point). The workout is 25 minutes. I made it through eight. EIGHT. And no way could I do most of the exercises. The reverse lunges were completely beyond me, my ankles just wouldn't bend enough without screaming pain.

So, looks like I have a nice new very specific exercise goal: finish the video! Properly!

By the way, I love this video (even though I couldn't do most of it). The instructor (Jessica Huthmaker) is very relaxed and low-key, no shouting at you, and she says repeatedly "If you're having trouble, do X instead" and "do as many as you can" and "If you need a break, go on and take one" which is precisely the sort of encouragement someone like me needs. I don't really feel bad for not finishing the video (I feel bad for being as out-of-shape as I am), I was certainly soaked in sweat and my heart was pounding, so it wasn't like I did NOTHING. And I want to go back and try it again soon, i.e. Wednesday.

I am going to make it a point to stretch my ankles out REALLY WELL first, though.

A Ban I'm Actually In Favor Of

Apparently (link is in the post title, as always), a measure to ban circumcision of minors (under 18, that is) is going on the ballot in San Francisco--with NO religious exemptions. Bravo. This is a ban I'd actually be in favor of. Circumcision is something that an individual needs to choose for themselves, not have forced on them by their parents in the name of hygiene or by their religious leaders or parents for some (heh) cockamamie "reason".

Now, if they want to decide that the age of consent for circumcision doesn't have to be 18 (16-year-olds can drive, after all) dandy. But NOBODY should be mutilating children for ANY reason, I don't care WHAT their religion says. This does not constitute a violation of a person's right to practice their religion. It just constitutes a limit on their nonexistant "right" to practice that religion ON OTHER PEOPLE who are not capable of giving their consent.

If the defenders of this proposed statute go about it in the right way, this could really constitute a landmark case for setting down, once again, what rights people actually have. Congress shall make no law establishing any religion--this doesn't say anywhere that Congress shall not make laws forbidding certain religious practices that may violate somebody's rights.

And Lo, the Swaggering Bully Returns

Via the Drudge Report, I read the short article linked to the post title. Honestly, how absurd can you get? "You taking defensive measures is going to force us to threaten to attack you!!" You might as well say "if you install locks on your doors, I'm going to be forced to break in and steal your stuff! It's your own fault!"

The only appropriate response to this would be "well, if you begin ramping up your ability to bomb us, then we'll just have to ACTUALLY bomb you." Granted, that's a bit juvenile, but what else can you do about this kind of behavior? Just going ahead with what you were doing in the first place as if no threat had been uttered may not be good enough. (It may, so that's definitely the first thing you should do.) I seriously doubt Russia will actually go through with this threat, too, but doubting it doesn't make it so.

I'm glad I'm not responsible for deciding what obnoxious threats, from Russia, from the Middle East, from China or India or Pakistan or North Korea, are actually credible enough that we should just go ahead and bomb them. That is a job for serious men in suits (and yes, sure, women also, I just like the mental image of serious men in suits better--I'm partial to a sharp-dressed man) who aren't reduced to anxious cowering or hysterical overreaction when somebody threatens them.

Too bad that our current government seems to be horribly short on that sort of person.

MovieBob on Atlas Shrugged: Part One

I think this review by MovieBob over on the Escapist is fantastic, not just because it's a very high-quality review, but also because the presence of said review on a website by, for, and about video gamers is a real demonstration of how much Ayn Rand's ideas are starting to have an effect on the culture.

The Prospect of Death

Click on the post title to go listen to one of Dr. Peikoff's recent podcast questions. This is actually a question that is familiar to me, and while Dr. Peikoff's response is absolutely correct, it's not very helpful psychologically. While I don't claim to be an expert, I'd like to offer perhaps a little psychologically-oriented advice to the asker of this question, because I've been there. Starting about when I was eleven, I was suddenly struck by the knowledge that, wow, I was going to die. And everything began to seem utterly pointless and futile. The prospect of death looming overhead like some sort of Sword of Damocles (never mind how that death might come about), seemed really terrible to me. I used to lie awake at night and cry because I just couldn't cope with the concept or find any way to deal with it.

However, I did eventually get (mostly) over it, and the prospect of death doesn't really frighten me much any more except in the way Dr. Peikoff discusses, which I take to be a reasonably rational approach to the whole business. So how does one go about getting over such a potentially paralyzing dread?

I think that death seems particularly horrible to young people who are living their lives primarily in the future--they may have many things they want to accomplish or big, nebulous, long-term goals, and there just doesn't seem to be enough time to get there no matter how long they live. In addition, there may be an aspect of finding one's current circumstances nearly unbearable, so that one feels that any goal is, at best, a long-term, far-away thing.

Well, the "cure" is to stop thinking like that and go get involved in something productive NOW. I'm not saying you shouldn't think about the future, but instead of thinking of it in terms of "well, thirty years from now I hope to have accomplished X, Y, and Z", think about it more in terms of "today I'm going to do this one thing that is moving in the right direction". Or several things, so that you can look back at your day and see something that you accomplished rather than dwelling on some impossible future to come. You have to get involved in and enjoy the things you are doing now rather than only dreaming about the results that you may get many years from now. It can be hard when you're young and your life is a big complicated stressful mess that you're struggling to get on top of. But you can do it, and it at least eliminates one source of irrational self-induced stress in the process.

Also, if you're experiencing this kind of fear, it might be a good time to take a look at what you are doing and figure out whether it's actually leading you where you want to go. There are a lot of things that people will shove on you as some kind of self-evident necessity (college, grad school, getting married, having kids, whatever) that may not suit you in any way whatsoever. So don't concentrate on the prospect of death as a way of ignoring what's really bothering you, currently.

Atlas Shrugged: Part One

This is the first movie I've seen in the theater this year. No joke. And I went to see it on opening day. Those who know me are probably already aware that I'm a big fan of Atlas Shrugged, not just as the equivalent of a "bible" of Objectivism, but because I really enjoy it as a book. So, of course, when they finally made it into a movie, I went and saw it right away. I asked my housemate if he wanted to go with me before I left, and he said, nah. He turned out to be right.

Atlas Shrugged: Part One is a train wreck.

Now, this opinion has nothing to do with the fact that it's not exactly like the book. I expected that the movie wouldn't be like the book. I HATE movies that make substantial effort to be "exactly like the book" as some sort of fanservice because this usually makes them lousy movies. Movies and novels are different art forms. What works in a novel doesn't work in a movie and vice versa. You have to take into account the nature of the medium in order to make a good movie. So I was fully prepared for even major characters to be edited out (or merged), entire plot events bypassed--all sorts of changes. I was even looking forward to them, as something new, exciting, and enjoyable.

What I wasn't expecting was the inept direction, characterization, pacing, and overall just bad moviemaking. From the moment Atlas Shrugged: Part One started to roll, I was shaking my head and rolling my eyes. I'm not talking about the casting. Most of the casting seemed reasonably appropriate and well-done. I can accept that Ellis Wyatt, who was in his mid twenties in the novel now appears to be approaching sixty. The essence of the character was reasonably well preserved.

What I can't accept was the horrible mishandling of any development of suspense or immersion. The lack of immersion is particularly egregious. This is a movie which cannot decide what world it is in. Placing it, time-wise, in 2016 was a major esthetic error from the get-go, one which even semi-competent science fiction authors know not to make. (Heck, Ayn Rand talked about this in The Art of Fiction.) Atlas Shrugged is not about any particular time period, and the effort to root it with mentions of an oil crisis in the Middle East turned it from a story about the philosophical problems of any kind of men in any kind of time into a trite modern political commentary.

From there, it only got worse. A slight miscalculation of this kind could be easily overlooked--it happens just in the first few minutes of the movie, after all. The phrase "Who is John Galt?" is done about as naturally as those radio commercials with two women doing a back-and-forth conversation about their personal problems. I was half expecting that the chosen individual uttering the phrase would turn and wink at the camera. Ayn Rand did such a wonderful job in the novel of making it a throwaway bit of slang that it was rather painful to watch.

Yet, it gets still worse. I feel like I could go on listing major errors forever. All the action (except very, very late in the movie), involves only perfectly coiffed, dressed, and made-up people in expensive clothes sitting in beautiful offices or bars or restaurants and arguing snidely with each other. This is not the way you portray a ferocious struggle with time, materials, and gross malice. Any shots that include actual machinery are completely impersonal, seen from great distance or through glass or via a news story. It is a caricature of Ayn Rand's celebration of people who really do work at the mine face where there are "no lousy jobs, only lousy men unwilling to do them". If I had only seen the movie and I was asked to give the difference between how James Taggart and Hank Rearden conduct their business, at best, all I could say was that James Taggart was a bit of a backstabber. This is not a conflict between a swollen parasite who does nothing but sit at a desk and a brilliant metallurgist who spent ten years sweating in a laboratory to produce a fantastical new product. This is a conflict between TWO men who . . . sit at desks and make snarky comments. All right then.

Then you have Rearden reminding Dagny of his anniversary party. Rearden, whose devotion to business is such that he forgot about said anniversary in the novel--repeatedly. Then you have Rearden hanging affectionately on Lillian at the party, and kissing her forehead. I could keep going in this vein, but I think I've given enough specific examples here.

I can kind of see what the director was trying to do--make the characters more "human" and accessible, doing ordinary sorts of things (like Rearden greeting Dagny cheerfully after the culmination of their roma--argh, okay, okay, I'll stop). But this completely trashes the parts of the movie which ought to be a cashing-in on the chain of established events. When Dagny and Rearden visit the 20th Century Motor Company (and Rearden just EXPLAINS what happened there ARGH ARGH NO I'M STOPPING I'M STOPPING), Dagny proceeds to throw out this line about something being a "stupid altruistic motive" and I seriously wanted to scream. They hadn't established a rationale for altruism being bad! The line completely comes out of nowhere, like those references in comic-book movies to obscure continuity events or characters. The difference being that the comic book movies don't HANG THE MOVIE on the people in the audience picking up on these obscure references and supplying all sorts of preexisting mental context. It is just plain bad. Inept. Unworthy.

Now, if you're a fan of Atlas Shrugged for the political commentary and don't know or care much about the esthetic issues here, you may actually enjoy this movie. (The theater I went to was packed, and people APPLAUDED at the end. ARGH.) There are plenty of one-liners and references in there to make you feel you're among friends and that this is a movie for "your kind of people" and invite you to feel a warm glow of belonging. But if you're actually looking to be drawn into another world, a world of stark conflicts, heroism, love, hate, reason, drama, and romance, you will be seriously disappointed. I certainly was.

And there's still more of this coming, too.

Pain Scale

This XKCD really hit home with me, because I got a similar reaction from the nurse when I broke and sprained my arm and told them the pain was a "two". I looked up at the pain chart, did a quick estimate based on the smilies, and picked two. I mean, I wasn't grimacing or anything, I could feel it and it was uncomfortable, particularly when I moved . . . sounded like a 2 to me. Mostly I just couldn't use my arm for anything.

Later on when it swelled up I think I would have been around a 5, maaaaaybe a 6: I started having spasms in my arm and it hurt enough that I had to stop and stand still until the spasm passed, I couldn't talk or focus or do ANYTHING while my arm was hurting. But I didn't scream or anything. (Btw, in case anyone REALLY WANTED TO KNOW, my, er, monthly cramps are about this bad, maybe a little bit worse. So yeah, my broken arm? Whatevs. And doctors wonder why I keep flushing the pain meds they've prescribed me after surgery/injuries in the past.)

I think one of the doctor posters on MDOD described what 10 out of 10 pain looks like the best: having your leg amputated with a hacksaw. In my mind, 10 out of 10 pain is what you experience just before you pass out. So I'm not really sure why they even ASK you to rate your pain this way. The doctor should really preface it with "well, you're not passed out or grunting and covered in sweat, so I'm going to say your pain is less than a seven. Why don't you rate it for me on a scale of one to six, seven being the part where you're grunting and sweating from the effort of not screaming." Because when you're at or above a seven, they ain't getting any useful communication out of you and they ought to know that.

Dr. Hurd on Trump

I stumbled on this article today (click the post title for the link) and actually felt like blogging about it, yay. Anyway, Dr. Hurd's warning against supporting Trump because he seems like someone who can "get things done" really resonates with me because of a lot of fairly recent reading I've been doing. Not only is the (primary) ability to "get things done" not a positive trait for a presidential candidate, it should sound in the mind of any student of history as a strident warning.

Why? Read about the rise of Fascism in Europe prior to World War 2, particularly about Mussolini. Or read about Castro. Or Woodrow Wilson. Or Herbert Hoover. Or any other would-be tyrant that people have inflicted on themselves over the years. Read what people said about them BEFORE they tried putting their policies into practice. What will you discover in common about all of them?

People praised how "dynamic" they were. How charismatic and aggressive and willful. How good they were at putting aside the silly restraints of tradition or the parliament or the stodgy old institutions of yesteryear to get things done.

The best government is one that restricts itself to certain absolutely vital functions of government and leaves the everything else alone. It is a government that contains restraints, traditions, legislative bodies, and, yes, a fair amount of stodginess for a reason. It is a government that operates by the first principle of the Hippocratic Oath: First, do no harm. It is not supposed to swing constantly into dynamic, aggressive, charismatic action on the whims of a single individual, sweeping all opposition aside, because that opposition has rights.

The ability to get things done should be a secondary or tertiary trait of a politician who wants to do the right things. Yes, it'd be nice if such a man wasn't entirely ineffectual, but even if he is and accomplishes absolutely NOTHING during his tenure, by NOT doing the WRONG things, he's still better than 99.9% of the politicians currently in power.